What Have You Done?
by Dances-In-Ashes
Summary: After-math drabble of 1x10.  One-shot.  Implied Jane/Maura.


**Fandom**: Rizzoli & Isles

**Pairing**: Implied Jane/Maura

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Rizzoli & Isles. They belong to others. I make no profit from this.

**Summary**: _**SPOILERS FOR SEASON FINALE**_. Drabble on the aftermath of 1x10; one-shot.

**Author's Note**: This is my first R/I fic, and first official fanfic piece ever. Do please be kind. However, reviews are much-loved, and critiques helping me improve are greatly appreciated! :) I do apologize for it being angsty, this has been stuck in my head and I had to do something about it before I could move on. Although not based on the song, Within Temptation's 'What Have You Done?' is to blame for the initial idea. Not a songfic, but I've added the lines that started this whole thing.

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_I've been waiting for someone like you,  
>But now you are slipping away.<br>What have you done now?  
>Why, why does fate make us suffer?<br>There's a curse between us, between me and you  
>What have you done?<br>_

Four hundred and thirty two thousand seconds.

Seven thousand and two hundred minutes.

One hundred and twenty hours.

Five days.

No matter how she kept time, each moment seemed worse than the last. She could barely sleep, and when she did it was always the same horrible dream that woke her up. The running, the shouting, the gunshot... the blood.

Christ, all the blood...

But it hadn't been a dream. It had been cold, terrible reality. And it did nothing but replay itself over and over in her head when she was awake, and behind her eyelids when she slept. She hadn't stopped turning the scenario over in her head, wondering if she could have done something different to have changed the outcome. What if she'd given herself up in Jane's place? What if she'd gotten outside sooner? Yelled at Korsak to take the shot? No matter what she thought she could have done differently, it didn't change the fact that Jane had shot herself.

Point blank; blown a hole through her stomach. And now she was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

Her eyes came to rest on her friend's body, unmoving but for the steady rise and fall of her chest -and that only because of a machine. She looked so unlike herself; her usually unruly hair was flat, the serious look of concentration replaced by ignorant peace, the unwavering strength in her limbs completely gone, and her color drained away to a terrible pallor.

Maura had long since cried herself out: while sitting in the back of the ambulance and holding Jane's hand fiercely as she went in and out of consciousness; when orderlies pulled her away from Jane as they rushed her into the OR and the doors swung shut to keep her out, convinced that would be the last time she saw Jane alive; countless times during the hours she waited in the overly cold waiting room; the fresh tears from renewed hope when the doctors had come out to say she had made it through surgery -unstable and on life support, but still alive.

After the initial grief, anger had set in. Anger at Jane, at Bobby, at herself. Even Korsak and Frost... Cavanaugh. Especially Cavanaugh. He had understaffed the precinct, left it defenseless. He had sent Danny undercover without anyone knowing; gotten him shot. Cavanaugh had set off this whole chain of events.

She had been so furious with Jane for endangering herself like that. No, not endangering... whittingly comitting suicide. What else did she think would happen when she'd jammed the gun into her abdomen and pulled the trigger? And what did she think she was doing to everyone who loved her? Or did she not care?

But after some time, even the anger had faded.

Somewhere between the frantic attention of the nurses, the heavy traffic of family and friends, and the oppressive silence between, interrupted only by the mechanical noises of the room's life support system, Maura had slipped into a hollow numbness.

It was better than the terrible emptiness that had started sliding into her consciousness when she realized Jane might not be coming back. Perhaps she was already gone. After all, without all the intricate machines, Jane's body would fail. Was that part of her that made her Jane already gone from the world forever? Or was it fighting a silent battle within? If she ever woke up, would she be the same? Different?

Reaching out, sliding her hand over Jane's, she felt the cold of Jane's skin against her palm and entwined their fingers. Her eyes roamed Jane's face, as expressionless as it was before, and then leaned forward in the cheap hospital chair to lay her head against Jane's thigh, fingers still entwined, her eyes still watching her face.

Reason said she needed to go home and sleep. Detach herself. Watch some television. Read a book. Shop. Anything to keep herself from worrying. And, for once, she pushed reason aside.

She wouldn't leave Jane's side... she _couldn't_. Not now. Not when she didn't know how much longer she had left with Jane. Minutes? Days? Years? If it meant seeing those warm chocolate eyes again, full of laughter and goofiness, she would wait forever.

"Don't leave me, Jane," she felt the tears coming back again. She's lost track of how many times she'd said this particular line, but it didn't matter; Jane had yet to answer.

She was the hero type, Jane. For good or for worse. She was the knight in shining armour who rode in on her loyal steed to rescue the innocent, putting her life on the line without a second thought. Her hands bore the scars from a previous battle with the dark side...

Jane had never complained about the pain, but Maura knew they hurt her. Physically, mentally. Maura had seen the tight lines at the corners of her eyes when they had ached more than usual, or the unconscious way she rubbed them when the weather changed. Hoyt had snaked his way into her psyche, too, haunting her dreams and keeping her awake at night. Jane always came to her, at all hours of the day. And Maura was more than happy to offer conversation to get her mind off things, the safety of a shared bed to fall asleep in, and open arms and kind words when the nightmares woke her, shouting, crying, or shaking.

If she made it through this newest attempt at self-sacrifice, she was going to have a newer, bigger scar. A new badge of honour that was going to hurt a lot more.

Reaching up with her free hand, she ran her fingers lightly over Jane's cheek, the tears finally besting her and sliding free. Jane was a warrior; she would move on and find a way to keep doing what she was best at.

And Maura would be there for her when she did.


End file.
